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Sure it’s summer, but some days are more blazing than others And so are different circumstances. This week, writers responded to hot situations from melting men to desert runners. Vegas makes an appearances along with other hellish heat.

The following stories are based on the July 1, 2015 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes the phrase, “Man, it’s a hot one.” Careful not to burn your fingers scrolling through the tales!

The boys arrived at the camp wearing rain jackets since the forecast said 60% rain. Overjoyed at the fact that the drought struck CA will get some sprinkles, these scouts did not want to dampen their spirits by being indoors.

Within minutes of their arrival, they were sweaty, perspiring and dripping.

“Boy! It is a hot one! How did the weather forecast rain with not a single cloud in sight.” said one exasperated scout while removing his rain gear.

“Oh! rain, please come for thy children soak themselves in their sweat and are tormented,” came a melodramatic dialog from behind.

It is never fun to bury a relative. Especially a good kind man who loved his wife, family and friends. But we did that yesterday. And ‘Man it’s a hot one’ was on everyone’s mind. Even under the shade of the funerary tent, which thankfully had cloth covers on the metal folding chairs. After taps, and the flag was folded the service continued. Thankfully I was sitting while I sweltered.

Lady or a gent, sweat was pouring out of your body. And was attracting gnats. Only the dead found comfort, that’s because they didn’t breath.

I muttered, “Man, it’s a hot one down here. You had your chance, you blew it.”

He wasn’t my first, he wouldn’t be the last.

###

Offline by Pete Fanning

“Man, it’s a hot one,” the disc jockey howled, his chippy tone lost in the static. Clyde wiped at the sweat on his forehead and sneered.

Marla bit her lip. Clyde was not seventeen and he certainly wasn’t sweet.

The last report mentioned Marla by name. A hopeful sign, she guessed. She flinched as Clyde crunched the can then tossed it back into the dust cloud behind them. He motioned to the cooler. Marla tugged at her shorts, hoping her father was following the cans, but visualizing exactly how he’d taught her to jam a knee to the groin.

The huge grassy field was filled with tents, tables and flags. Edna loved the culinary samples at the International Food Festival, but Ed was less venturesome about trying new foods. He stuck mostly to drink concoctions.

Multiple tastes of Raki, Sake, Sangria and Ouzo had Ed feeling his oats. As he approached the India table, something orange caught his eye. Ed plopped the sample labeled Bhut Jolokia into his mouth before Edna could intervene.

Earlier this morning, the air in camp still held night-coolness. I called to anyone in earshot, “I’m just going for a short run!” Dry dirt under my trainers, I took off at a steady pace.

Muscles warmed, and the air—man, it’s going to be a hot one! Insects buzzed around me in the desert morning. A road-runner across the pan challenged me to race, and I was winning! Until my heel rolled.

Lucy maneuvered the tribal fire-engine up the winding Forest Service Road toward thick clouds surging above a fresh lightning strike. The vehicle lumbered over backcountry rocks like a tank. It didn’t carry much water, but she could rig a pump to the lake.

***
Author’s note: Firestorms are one of many dangers faced by wildland firefighters who are often summer workers or even volunteers from multiple agencies, some federal, some local. A firestorm creates its own violent drafts that sound like a freight train engine. They burn so hot so fast that nothing survives its heat.

Man, this is a hot compilation! Wonderful reads here, thanks again Charli, so glad to be back and what better prompt. After being so hot under the collar with all this laptop stuff, it’s nice to send the heat packing somewhere else for a change 😀